I think it was that pastry-faced bastard Lou Reed who said that all cymbals do is just block out the guitar. Joy Of Sex have got a similarly streamlined drum set up: two upturned tubs that their new member, seemingly a shy schoolchild, plays standing up. Not that they sound much like the Velvets either; instead, Joy Of Sex take their cues from the late ’70s/early ’80s UK provincial new wave, with Wire being perhaps the influence that rears its head most visibly. They make a fine racket, skeletal but muscular, minimal, crisp noise driven forward two minutes at a time. My friend fancies the tall, balding singer. I quite fancy him too. Sterling work.

Seems to be a lot of looping going on at the moment. Seems to be a lot of looping going on at the moment. Seems – anyway. Sing hosanna if you’re a pedal manufacturer, and hold Tartufi‘s hand through their first gig outside America. A big pile of kit onstage but only two people: Lynne Angel, who flits between bass and guitar, and Brian Gorman, on drums and xylophone reacharound. They rock like ghosts in a musical instrument shop: notes rise from one source after another, get swirled round the air, mingled with moon howling vocals and stop start decibel bursts. Machines achieve sentience and write great, awkward, impressive stuff.

Hey Buffalo Bar, I know you’re the Shoreditch cunthole of Cardiff, but showing Edward Norton’s horrific racist killing from American History X on the projection screen made Marnie Stern‘s first number just a liiiitle bit Nathan Barley for me. Good choice whoever. Stern’s stoned bumpkin demeanor creates too much discord with the technicolour pinpricks of her records, and things only resolve themselves halfway through the set, ‘Patterns Of A Diamond Ceiling’ spewed out loud and vengeful. An awesome ‘Vibrational Match’ is next, and all clicks from here on in, escape velocity reached through cranky art garage and furious and (yes!) looped fret tapping. It’s like Marnie Stern finally remembering she is Marnie Stern the positivity spangled, super ahead guitar freak. When she’s in the zone, these home runs knock themselves out.

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